As she moved, she scanned her glowing body. Except for the cloak, she wore the same clothes she had on earlier, though now without color. Everything radiated white from top to bottom.
The cloak dropped from her grasp and fell to the side of the pile. Yet, she hadn’t let go. It seemed to just slip away. Maybe that’s how it was as a spirit. She could touch and carry physical objects, but only for a short time. Deference seemed to have the same limited ability.
She stepped onto the pile of dust. Now what? She had gathered a body from dust three times now—when first arriving, in the pipeline tunnel, and after the execution. Again, what were the common factors? In the two recent cases, she had been in mental contact with her body on Starlight. Was that true also with the initial generation here, when she first created her body? The details seemed fuzzy.
Yet, what did it matter? If it worked twice, maybe it would work a third time.
She stretched out over her dust and closed her eyes. Again, as if trying to awaken from a dream, she concentrated on rising from slumber. It seemed easier than before, maybe from practice, or maybe from no longer being confined to a body.
After a few seconds, it seemed that gravity pulled down on her in a bouncing rhythm. A voice came through, soft and gentle, but a background noise garbled the words. A foul odor rode the moist air, a rotting carcass perhaps.
She opened her eyes. Adrian’s profile filled her vision, his face partially veiled by shadows. He carried her in his arms, cradled like a baby. A boy walked in front, wielding a sword and holding the hand of a child, perhaps a girl, who swung a lantern at her side. Behind them, another girl pushed a one-wheeled cart. Their footsteps splashed through shallow water, masking Adrian’s whispers, but as Marcelle concentrated on his lips, the words grew clear.
“So even though you had good reason to lack trust in Cassabrie, I think she had a reason behind what appeared to be a selfish plot. Her presence within me and the circumstances it created taught me a great deal about myself … and about you.”
As he paused, marching onward toward the moving light, she gazed at Adrian’s profile. A tear tracked down his cheek and into beard stubble, but with his arms occupied, he couldn’t brush it away. And those arms! His muscles, so strong and steady, carried his burden effortlessly. How long had he been walking? How long had he been pouring out his soul?
Maybe this was what Cassabrie was talking about. The sword maiden’s shield was down. She was vulnerable, open, in a state that allowed Adrian to speak what was on his mind.
Heaving a sigh, he continued. “Back when I forfeited our match, I made a big mistake. Not the forfeiting part. If I had it to do over again, I still would have done that. My mistake was in not talking to you first. I made a show out of it, and I realize now that I was trying to put my family’s chivalry on display. You see, my father’s reputation was ruined by a liar, and people don’t give him the honor he deserves. I guess I wanted to show them the kind of man his teachings fostered, someone who practiced chivalry even at his own expense. I mean, a lot of people thought I was just afraid to fight you. You know, if I won, then so what? I defeated a woman. And if I lost, then the humiliation would have been a burden of shame I would carry to my grave. So, to some, forfeiting looked like a coward’s way out.
“But that wasn’t true at all. I wasn’t afraid of fighting you. I didn’t fear clashing swords or the letting of blood. Win or lose, I would still be Adrian Masters. I would still have my honor, in spite of the catcalls and snickering that might go on behind my back. That much I learned from my father’s trials. Even with the venomous gossip that dogged him day and night, he never changed. He was always Edison Masters. He was always a father who tucked his little boys into bed each night, who taught them how to fight, how to defend, how to grow strong in body, mind, and spirit. And most of all, he taught us how to treat a lady.
“If you could see how he loves my mother, you would understand. He cherishes her. He would die for her without hesitation. Yet, what he does best of all, he lives for her. Every word he speaks to her is kind, never delivered in anger, never spoken to cut or wound.”
Adrian laughed. “I think if he ever spoke an unkind word to her, I would be the first to punch him in the nose and shout, ‘Who are you, and what have you done with my father?’”
After a short pause, his smile died away. “So what I’m trying to say is this—the reason I couldn’t fight you isn’t because I feared putting a nick in your sword or a scratch on your skin. My greatest fear was being your adversary. I didn’t consciously realize this until Cassabrie’s presence made it clear. When she was inside me while I was chained to the Reflections Crystal, and you were out there battling a dragon and Zena and everyone else, Cassabrie laid the choice out in front of me. Did I want to go with her to peace and safety, an eternity of bliss, immersed in her hypnotic charms? Or did I want to go to battle with you, to suffer and maybe die in the white-hot fires of evil?
“That’s when I realized the truth. My greatest desire is to be at your side. We are warriors, and I want to be a warrior with you, not against you, and I couldn’t bear to do anything as your adversary, whether it was in the heat of a real battle or in the showmanship of a tournament. I want our hearts to beat together. I want our muscles to flex together. I want our swords to swing as one, two blades in harmony, not in conflict.
“You see, battling you in the ring would have been a symbol, an illustration of conflict, and I wanted to avoid any shadow of that with every fiber of my being. So I make no apology for my decision to forfeit, but I hope you will accept my apology for neglecting the most important factor.”
After adding another sigh, his voice began to crack. “I should have told you. I should have respected you enough to let you know why I was going to forfeit. I couldn’t have told you everything, because I didn’t know all of it myself, but I could have at least told you that I didn’t want to cross swords with someone …” He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “With someone I love so much.”
He nodded. “Yes, I knew that much then. And I think I feared the truth. My father taught me how to love a woman of peace, a woman of gentle ways. I had no idea how to love a woman of war, a woman who would choose sweeping a battlefield with a sword over sweeping a floor with a broom.”
As he laughed again, Marcelle squelched her own laugh … and her own tears.
Another pause ensued, allowing the gentle splashes at his feet to again hold sway. Adrian’s tear rolled to his chin and fell to the back of her hand. When it trickled around her finger and to her palm, she closed her fist and held it tightly.
“So the point is this, Marcelle, and I hope deep in your mind somewhere you can hear what I’m saying.” For a moment, the splashes returned as the only sound. Then, Adrian’s voice resounded, stronger and filled with passion. “Will you forgive me for not respecting you enough to tell you all that was in my heart? And if we get through all of this alive, will you …” A lump in his throat rose and fell. “Will you marry me?”
Summoning all her energy, Marcelle forced out a weak, “Yes.”
Adrian’s head jerked around, and his lovely eyes came into view. “Marcelle! You spoke!”
Trying to smile, she nodded.
“So, you said yes. Yes to what? That you forgive me, or that you’ll marry me?”
“Both.” Taking a deep breath, she again gathered her strength. “I want to … marry you … Adrian Masters. … I want to … fight at your side.”
More tears fell from Adrian’s chin. She turned her hand and let them drip into her palm. “This is … my symbol. … I hope you understand.”
He pulled her close and whispered into her ear. “I understand. We will catch each others’ tears and never be the reason for the shedding. Even if taking you to the healing trees in the Northlands doesn’t work, even if you stay paralyzed and can never lift a sword again, I will stay at your side.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you. And, by the Creator’s strength, my love will last fo
rever.”
As his breath warmed her skin, the light ahead shrank and faded, its flickering steadying to a constant glow. Still in darkness, she stared at the light. It wasn’t a lantern at all. It was her glow stick, lying on the floor next to her scabbard.
She pinched it and drew it close. Its glow felt warm and comforting. She had a body again, but it seemed that she had left her heart behind. Yet, it was safe. Adrian Masters carried it in his strong arms, and he would never let it fall.
* * *
SIXTEEN
* * *
MARCELLE pushed the dungeon’s trapdoor open a crack. With the keys in her possession, unlocking it this time was much easier than prodding the spring with a sword. She peeked out. No one was in sight.
Lifting the door just enough to squeeze through, she climbed to ground level, then let it fall silently. Holding her cloak’s hood closed over her nose and mouth, she hurried down a path that led away from the palace, supposedly a route that passed by the rear of the dungeon.
Although she had lived in the palace for years, there had never been a reason to follow this path of gravel and sand. According to the hunters, it led to the game preserve where every so often the nobles were allowed to shoot at the stags and pheasants that roamed the area. Most arrows flew harmlessly, but a few of the nobles handled a bow with skill and brought home quite a bounty for community feasts. Although tracking animals in the midst of bears and badgers sounded intriguing, women were never allowed to go. For many men, the excursions were likely an excuse to get away from their families, tell tall tales, and spit and belch without care.
As the path continued, it curved slightly to the right and descended into a forested area. Dry pine needles now covered the gravel, making a stealthy approach even more difficult. The crackling under her shoes sounded like twigs snapping. It might as well have been a series of trumpet blasts.
After another minute, the gate came into view on her right, embedded in a long earthwork rise that stretched back toward the dungeon’s main entrance. Randall stood with his hands on the gate’s wooden bars, his back toward her. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees and painted a mottled yellow glow on his broad shoulders.
He unlocked the gate, swung it open, and walked in. He then kicked away a stone and picked up her note. When he walked out to the light, he drew it close, his head moving back and forth as he read.
Marcelle ducked into the woods to the left of the path and hid behind a wide tree. When Randall finished reading, he squinted, apparently confused.
“Come on, Randall,” Marcelle whispered to herself. “It’s not that difficult.”
After pushing the note into his pocket, he touched his hip. No scabbard was attached.
Marcelle drew her head back. Why would that be? He went to warrior school. He knew better than to walk around unarmed during perilous times.
Something rustled deeper in the woods. Marcelle dropped to a crouch and hid herself among a cluster of bushes. A line of seven men hustled past, all but one with a quiver on his back and a bow in hand. The seventh carried a woman in his arms. Dressed in a dirty white gown, her limbs hanging limply, she appeared to be asleep or unconscious.
The six archers spread out near the edge of the forest, raised arrows and bows, and took aim at Randall, while the seventh laid the woman near the far end of the line. He drew a sword and watched Randall from behind a tree.
Marcelle bit her lip. Should she cry out? Run to help? Yet, the archers didn’t appear ready to shoot. They just stood casually with arrow to string. Maybe now that Orion’s guardians were in place, he would soon arrive.
Crunching pine needles sounded from the path. Orion approached from the direction of the palace. Wearing a long, hooded cloak, he glanced from side to side as he walked, his brow deeply furrowed, making his hooked nose reach closer to his lips.
Just before the final turn toward the dungeon gate, he caught sight of one of the archers, and his face relaxed. When he reached Randall, he halted and leaned close, apparently whispering.
Randall glanced at the forest, also whispering. Then the two just stared at each other as if in optical combat. Finally, Randall cocked his head and grinned, saying something else too quiet to hear.
Orion turned, walked a few steps back on the path, and shouted, “Archers! Leave us! I am safe!”
The archers lowered their bows, thrust their arrows to their quivers, and marched back the way they had come. As they walked, they tromped heavily and brushed the foliage with intentional swipes. When the forest noise quieted, only the sword-wielding bodyguard remained, the unconscious woman still lying near his feet.
Orion walked toward the dungeon, pulled a photo gun from his cloak pocket, and stopped just out of Randall’s reach. “While it is true that dragon allies are of great value on the battlefield,” Orion said, aiming the gun at Randall, “they are not so helpful when absent.”
Marcelle looked at the bodyguard. It seemed that Orion spoke loudly in order to allow the guard to monitor the conversation.
Maintaining a fiery stare, Randall matched Orion’s volume. “What makes you think they’re absent?”
Orion shifted the gun toward the open gate. “Shall I fire into the dungeon? That should blow up the only potential hiding place and likely disable any dragon allies who might be there.”
Randall stepped to the side. “Feel free to shoot, but you and I both know how long it takes your gun to re-energize. I will be able to disarm you during that time.” He spread out his arms. “Or you could just shoot me. The dragons will kill you before you fire another shot. You will never learn the secrets I hold, secrets that could give you control over not only Mesolantrum but all of Major Four as well.”
While Orion stared into the dungeon, Randall continued. “Think of it. Viktor Orion would have the power to extend his goodwill throughout the world, granting favor to those who deserve it, the faithful followers who believe in his sacred crusades. Not only that, the great governor could extend that beneficent hand through space, take the Lost Ones into his protective arms, and bring them home to the shouts and adulation of every man, woman, and child on both worlds.”
Marcelle nodded. Good show, Randall! Her student was prepared.
Orion lowered the photo gun. “What do you want me to do?”
Randall raised a fist. “Assemble our military forces. Every able man, whether active or retired, must be called to duty, including those in neighboring regions. There is a portal that will take us to a land in Dracon’s northern climes, and we will be able to attack the dragon realm by surprise, rescue our people, and make sure no foul beast ever crosses to our world again.”
“Why would dragons betray their own kind?”
Randall took a step closer to Orion. “A usurper has taken control there, and the deposed king wishes to restore his rule. If we help him, after we succeed, the high priest of that land will close every portal forever, and both worlds will live in peace.”
His stare again locked on Randall, Orion also took a step, closing their gap to a mere arm’s length. Orion extended the gun toward Randall and spoke in a tone too low to hear.
As Randall’s eyes darted around, he slid his fingers under the gun and lifted it from Orion’s palm.
Marcelle cringed. Orion was setting a trap, and Randall was falling for it.
“Why are you doing this?” Randall asked.
Orion pointed at himself, but his voice stayed too low to hear.
When Orion finished, Randall’s eyes settled back to a fiery stare. He replied, but his voice again failed to reach Marcelle’s ears.
After the two exchanged a few more words, Orion snapped his fingers. The bodyguard sheathed his sword, picked up the woman, and carried her toward the dungeon gate.
Randall reeled back and swiped a hand across his hip but found no sword hilt there.
“Easy, boy,” Orion said. “I sent my archers away, but I said nothing to my personal bodyguard. Do not fear.”
When t
he bodyguard arrived, Orion gestured toward the ground. “Lay her here, then go to your quarters. I will see myself home.”
The guard laid her on the path. With a hand on his sword hilt, he bowed to Orion and marched back toward the palace. Then, when he reached a point out of their sight, he skulked into the woods and hid behind a tree, not more than twenty paces to Marcelle’s right.
Orion swept an arm over the woman. “I found your mother, and I now restore her to you.”
“Mother!” Randall lunged to her and knelt at her side. “Mother, wake up. It’s me, Randall.”
Marcelle bent low to stay out of the bodyguard’s sight. Orion had set the bait. He was using an emotional hook to get Randall on his side, and his guard had stayed to ensure that the hook would be set.
Orion curled a hand and looked at his fingernails. “We gave her a mild sedative to help her rest. She will awaken soon.”
“If I find out you had anything to do with her imprisonment, I’ll …” Randall rose slowly to his feet, his face and fists tight. “How did you know you needed my mother as a bargaining tool?”
“Bargaining tool?” Orion laughed. “My dear Randall, I have given her to you freely. My bodyguard merely held her in the forest until I was sure it was safe to bring her out. Lady Moulraine has been my friend since childhood, and I would never want to see any harm come to her. If you are looking for an enemy, I suggest you turn your attention to Drexel. When you told me about the note you found in his quarters, I conducted an investigation. My bodyguard found your mother bound and gagged in Bristol’s quarters, and you know who held Bristol’s leash. She was hungry and thirsty, but unharmed. I hope this gesture convinces you of my goodwill, at least enough to convey confidence to the dragons.”
“I see your point.” Randall made a cradle with his arms and lifted his mother’s body. “I will talk to the dragons.”